In a daydream this week, I time-traveled to a potential future and watched this scene play out….

I rented a small boutique venue to hold my book release party.

I've sent out the invitations.

I've hired a live musician.

I personally reviewed the catering menu and selected crowd-pleasing appetizers.

Before the doors open, I take in the scene and let the anticipation rise for what I believe will be a wonderful evening with my friends and invited guests. I rented a decent microphone and placed it on a stage where I’ll thank everyone for their support and read a very short section of my book. It’s going to be a memorable evening.

A moment before I open the doors, I ask a musician to start playing in order to fill the room with the sonic warmth of music. I walk to entrance to open the doors, and...

There is no one.

Ever the optimist, I walk the room understanding that sometimes things happen and people are often delayed.

And I wait for moments—moments that grow into minutes. I waited for nearly a half hour before accepting that no one could come to my book release party.

I have a full stage and an empty audience.

I look over to the musician who is playing the piano, and he gives me a knowing but compassionate smile. All at once, I'm the kid who didn't get invited to the party or selected to play on the team at recess. I'm the lone high school student stuck to the wall, uninvited to the dance floor. I'm the job candidate who wasn't selected for the dream job.

I let all of this sink in momentarily and allow disappointment to get its free, unblocked shots in at me.

But then... I think about stars in galaxies far away that explode with creative energies to no applause.

I contemplate the unseen molten rock beneath the earth that churns and pulses with divine power.

I think of the thousands of flowers that will bloom and eggs that will hatch in private all over the planet.

It's then that I hear a still, small voice say to my spirit, "None of this is waste."

Creation has always been an unselfish act. Generosity in the face of lost causes adds weight and depth to our stories.

I go to the microphone and nod to the pianist, who calmly guides the music to its final resting note. And then I share the words that I’ve written. I share with gratitude and pride. I write and create with the hopes of an audience, but I really do it because I believe the work in itself is important.

So, friend, whatever you do, whatever you create…do it for you, and it will be enough.

Thank you for reading; it means a lot.

-Jordan

P.S. and yes! If I get that book written, you’ll be invited to the party! I’d love to see you there!